Love Worth Dying For (RusAme)

The Fight

That's when I punched the wall probably as hard as Russia punched my face. Except the wall was made out of bricks so my hands ended up hurting like hell and I could tell my knuckles were now bleeding.

"AMERICA!!!!!!"

"NO!!!!!!!! DON'T TALK TO ME!!!!!!! I HATE THIS SCHOOL AND I HOPE DO DROP OUT AND NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!!" I stormed out of the building, not looking back.

I ran all the way home while trying to hold back my tears. I didn't want dad or EU or any of my brothers to find out about this. Fact is, I've never told my dad about Russia. Part of it was because I don't like sharing every detail of my school life but another part is I don't want my dad to get overprotective of me. But then again anything is better than being forced to play victim at this point.

I ran straight to my room and immediately started digging around in my shelves for a blunt I could smoke. It was the only thing that could help me feel better when I was down like this. I lit it and took a couple of puffs and tried to fix my eyeliner before anyone noticed. I also started to re paint my nails since they got a little messed up in the fight.

A few hours later I heard my door open. It was Canada.

"I heard what happened." He spoke in a hushed tone as he sat down next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I just sat there in silence.

"Honestly I think what the principal did was unfair. I'm no fighter but there's not much else you can do when you're pinned to a wall. No school should support being a victim." His support made me smile a little bit. "But who was this kid anyways?"

"Eh, just some jerk. I can't really remember his name." I lied.

"Look, America, I love you but I hate it when you lie like that. I know it was Russia. I saw the fight with my own eyes."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Ame, I know Russia can be a bit harsh sometimes but what you said back to him was a bit too harsh. You should probably apologize next time you see him."

"You just love apologizing to everyone Nada. But Russia is just a jerk. He kinda deserved it."

"I always apologize because sometimes you just don't know the full scope of the situation. Things aren't always what they seem to be. That's why I always try to be kind to everyone because you never know what they're going through."

I began to think about those words a little bit. Was Russia really the tough brute I thought he was? Was he really what he seemed to be?

TW// This is the part with the self harm so if you can handle the rest of this chapter but not this please stop reading and skip to the next chapter. I don't want to trigger any trauma in anyone.

Russia's POV

"I hope they die so I can spit on their grave and be dishonored for all eternity." Those words stung like bullets. God, I really hope no one saw me like this. I aggressively shut the bathroom stall and sobbed like crazy. Ugh, why am I so pathetic!?!?!?! Why am I so sensitive!?!?!? My face felt hot and blood red and my eyes were puffier then..........ugh.........everything!!!!!!!" I watched my tears rain down like a thunderstorm onto the cold hard concrete floor. This was now where I belong..........cold..........and dead.

I shuffled around in my bag for a cold, pointy object. A fresh razor. Nearly as cold as this floor. I undid the bandages on my arms and stared at all the other times I did this. The scars felt so ancient and just like yesterday both at the same time. My dad's words echoed in my head.

"The capitalists are the enemy."

"They will betray you."

"Showing emotions is weakness."

"No one shall dishonor me, for I felt no emotion."

"Emotions will be your downfall."

"Feel the pain until there is nothing left."

"The only thing warriors feel is pain."

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

I felt the pain. I felt the razor pierce my skin, as the razor slowly glided across. At first, I felt nothing. But then it stung like a wildfire was dancing on my wrists. The only way I could get rid of my pain was to feel pain. And after I've felt I will feel nothing. This is what my father wanted. This is what I deserved.

I made several cuts on both my wrists. The blood dripped down onto the cold hard floor along with my tears. I could taste the bitter saltiness of those tears. They mixed on the floor in a frothing foam. A bitter storm. The perfect storm. More words began to echo in my head.

"You must conceal."

"Real men don't feel."

"Emotions will make you soft."

"Pity will make you soft."

"You must hide your struggles."

"For if they find out."

"That will be your bitter end."

I grabbed some toilet paper and began to clean up the blood. That wasn't easy because there's a lot of it. After I was done I flushed the evidence down the toilet. No witnesses. I immediately began to bandage myself up. I had to put on several layers because the blood stains kept seeping through.

That's when a faint light leaked into the dingy bathroom. Was that even legal? I hissed and slid my ushanka over my eyes. They couldn't see my eyes or my pathetic face. or the tears dripping down it. The ushanka that once belonged to my dad. It's warmth was the only thing that kept me sane. I collapsed on the floor from the pain. The misery. The floor felt like death. Death is all I was.